Killer's Cousin by Nancy Werlin
“David, are you sure?” my mother asked. “It’s nearby, and I’d love to see it. We could go tomorrow.”
“I thought we’d go for a hike in the Blue Hills,” I said. “I hear there’s a terrific view of Boston.”
There was a pause.
“I’m not the hiking type, dear,” said my mother dryly. Then her face brightened with an idea. “Stuart, you and David could go for that hike, while Raina and I—” She swiveled and looked at Raina. “You do want to see this exhibit? How about tomorrow? Are you busy?”
“Well …,” said Raina. She was looking a little flustered. “I hadn’t planned … that is, I’d love to.”
“Excellent,” said my mother, beaming. “And perhaps you’d like to come upstairs for dinner afterward. I plan to cook salmon.”
I could feel my father next to me. I imagined us alone together for hours and I panicked. “Changed my mind,” I said. “I’ll go to the exhibit too.”
“All right,” said my mother quietly, after a moment.
I did not look at my father. He did not look at me.
Raina said good-bye, and went inside. And we went for our walk. “A nice girl,” said my mother about Raina, but thankfully she left it at that. We three walked through the North Cambridge streets for a full hour, and spoke only about the neighborhood. It was what I had wanted. No questions about Lily, or Julia, or Vic, or Raina, or even about Frank Delgado.
As we neared the Shaughnessy house again, my father said, “Perhaps your mother and I will take another turn around the block.”
“Okay,” I said. I knew I had hurt him when I dodged the hike. I tried not to be hurt now. I left them. I went in alone.
Running up the inside stairs in the gloom, I nearly tripped over Lily. She was sitting on the top step outside her parents’ apartment. Without looking at me, she squeezed her body to the left. I stepped by. If she was going to ignore me, then I would ignore her.
But then, about to nudge the door closed, I hesitated. “Lily? Aren’t you coming in?” She didn’t answer. I took a deep breath. “Aren’t you cold?”
From deeper within the apartment, I heard Julia’s laugh, and then Vic’s. At the sound of their laughter, gooseflesh rose on my arms. It was so … so tentative. And it sounded so peculiar, in that house.
There was no laughter in that house. Only shadows, humming, and silence.
I looked at the back of Lily’s neck, at the way she sat, upright, on the stair. I stood there for several minutes as the gooseflesh settled. Finally, I closed the door, leaving it unlocked behind me. Let Lily sit there if she wanted, if it helped. She’d get over it.
Surely she would get over it.
CHAPTER 17
My mother liked Raina. By the time the salmon dinner was eaten the following evening, it was clear to me that my mother liked Raina very much.
My father, as always, was harder to figure. I caught him watching me, and I knew that unlike my mother, he had not rushed into assuming Raina was a potential new girlfriend.
The four of us were in the attic apartment. My mother had invited Vic and Julia, and Lily, and had bought plenty of fish and vegetables, but Vic and Julia had other plans.
“There’s a movie at the Capitol,” said Julia, “which Vic and I have decided to see.” She named a Meg Ryan romantic comedy. There was a faint pink tinge on her cheeks. My mother beamed at her. “Lily will come to dinner,” said Julia.
But Lily had not come. And when I was sent down to fetch her, I found a locked bedroom door and silence behind it. She didn’t respond to me, or to my mother, or to my father, and finally we left her alone.
“She’ll get over it,” said my mother uncertainly as she cut lemon for the fish. My father had gone back downstairs to tell Lily we would put a plate for her in the kitchen. “And the salmon and asparagus will be fine cold.”
I nodded. Then my father came back, with Raina, who had actually changed for dinner.
She wasn’t ever going to be my girlfriend. That kind of thing was over for me. But even so, I could hardly breathe for a moment as I looked at her. She had on a short skirt and black tights covered with tiny white dots. She abandoned her shoes at the door when she came in, and sat down in a corner of the sofa, folding her long legs up under her. Her lipstick shimmered.
Her shirt was unfortunately very baggy.
I listened to her chatter unself-consciously with my parents: her classes, her three part-time jobs, her paintings, her hopes.
Soon I managed to forget Lily, alone downstairs, and things went very well until after dinner, when my mother pulled a little photo album out of her purse. Her sly, happy, sidelong glance toward me made me tighten in fear. I winced under the weight of the normalcy she wished me to reclaim.
I went to the kitchen, made coffee, and scooped out ice cream for everyone.
Raina flipped through the photos one by one as my mother provided the primary narration and my father, on my mother’s other side, threw in the occasional comment. “These are great, Eileen,” said Raina to my mother, about halfway through, and the name sounded so odd. Emily had always called my parents Mr. and Mrs. Yaffe.
“Here’s David on the swings,” said my mother happily, and I grimaced. I handed around the ice cream and coffee and leaned over the back of the sofa, where I had an excellent view of Raina’s legs and a less-than-excellent view of the photographs.
“David’s Little League team,” said my father. “David is, uh—”
“Right there,” said Raina, unerringly picking out the ten-year-old me in the lineup. I was impressed. Even I had had trouble locating myself in that one.
Raina turned the page. “Oh, look. There’s a picture tucked behind this one.” She pulled it out. I knew instantly who it was.
I said, “Kathy.” And as I spoke her name I had a flash of déjà vu, as if I’d seen her recently. For the barest instant I heard the humming, and I froze. I looked around, but no one else appeared to have heard a thing. I pulled myself together.
“My cousin,” I said to Raina. “Vic and Julia’s older daughter.” I was aware, again, of Lily downstairs. “Lily’s sister.”
“She looks a lot like you, Eileen,” said Raina to my mother. “Where is she now?” But my mother was staring at the photo and didn’t answer.
“She’s dead,” I said, and my voice was much too loud in the apartment that had been Kathy’s.
“Oh!” Raina flushed. “I’m so sorry. How sad.” She paused. “She can’t have been very old.”
“Eighteen.” My mother took the photo. “I’m sorry,” she said to Raina. “I was just surprised …” Then she turned to me. “I went through all the photos before coming, because you said there weren’t any of Kathy downstairs. I must have missed it somehow.” She exhaled. My father put his arm around her and she leaned against him. “Thank God this didn’t happen in front of Vic and Julia. I can’t imagine what I’d have done … especially now.”
“It didn’t happen,” said my father.
“Yes, but what if—”
“It didn’t happen.” He smiled at her, and after a moment she smiled back gratefully.
I looked at the photo. Raina was right; Kathy did resemble my mother. I said so.
“It’s the jaw,” said Raina, the portrait painter. “And the nose, the brow; the underlying structure. It’s only the coloring that’s different.” With a finger, she traced the lines of Kathy’s face in the photograph. I followed her eyes to my mother’s face and I could see what she meant.
“Can I keep this?” I said to my mother.
She frowned. “Well, if you want. Just don’t let Julia—”
“I’ll be careful,” I said.
There was one of those pauses. “Well,” said Raina, and I knew she was about to leave. Part of me wanted her to, immediately. That part of me resented the illusion her presence created—the illusion that I was okay, had a girlfriend, was back to normal. But the other part of me welcomed it.
Surprisingly, my fath
“Oh, yes,” said my mother.
And Raina didn’t leave. Instead, she reached for her melting ice cream. “They’re nice, your parents,” she said after they’d gone.
“They like you,” I said. I paused, embarrassed. “My mother seems to think …”
“Yeah. Don’t worry about it,” said Raina casually. She finished her ice cream and put the dish down. She stretched out her legs. I wanted to say something, but didn’t know what. I was conscious of the cooling coffee, of the ice cream dishes. Of Raina’s legs, and of her eyes examining me. I was glad when she spoke.
“I can’t help being curious about your cousin Kathy. She died very young. How did it happen?”
Again I was aware that this had been Kathy’s apartment. Raina added, “Of course you don’t have to tell me if it’s too painful or something.”
“No,” I said, “it’s okay. It’s just …” I cast around and seized upon a random excuse. “I should do the dishes.”
“I’ll help,” said Raina. “You can tell me while we do them.” We gathered everything up and transferred it to the sink. I washed and Raina dried. Her eyes were expectant, and I had no reason not to tell her. None.
“She was twelve years older than Lily,” I said. “Lily was a big surprise—Kathy had been the only child for so long. Vic and Julia had all these plans for Kathy.” I hesitated.
Raina dried the last dish and I let the water out of the sink. As it gurgled down the pipes, Raina said, straight out, “Kathy killed herself, didn’t she?”
“Yeah,” I said. I looked out at the living room. I felt cold. “She dropped out of college after her freshman year, and she lived here. Vic renovated this attic for her. She had a job, I think at a health club. She was learning to give aerobics classes, stuff like that. She had a boyfriend. I guess he dumped her. I don’t know the details.”
“Oh,” said Raina. She, too, looked out at the living room. She said, “You must think about her a lot, living here.”
“No,” I said uncertainly. But my mind leapt unbidden to the humming shadow. I could almost see Kathy’s twelve-year-old face, when I, at seven, had adored her. “I barely knew her.”
“I would think about her,” said Raina. “It’s only natural.”
I shrugged. I moved back to the living room and Raina followed me, close.
“How’d she do it?” she asked softly.
I turned to face her. “She took an overdose of something. That’s all I know.”
Raina wrapped her arms around herself as if she were suddenly cold. She started to say something and then stopped. Impulsively, I put a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry. You did ask. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s okay,” said Raina. She looked at me, her eyes and lips level with mine. My head swam. And then I thought of Emily. I stepped back.
Raina made a small gesture with her head. She moved her shoulders. She turned away, and then half turned back. “Um. When are your parents leaving?”
“Sunday.”
“Well … you want to see a movie Sunday night?” Her eyes met mine straight on. “Like, um, a date?”
I wanted to say yes. I wanted so much to say yes. “I don’t know,” I said. “It’s not you, it’s … I … I’m sorry.”
Raina reddened. “That’s okay,” she said. “Forget it.”
I couldn’t bear it. I didn’t have anybody. I said, “Can we just go and see a movie, and not call it a date?”
For an excruciating moment I thought she would say no. But then she nodded, and I could breathe again. “Okay. An early movie, then?”
I nodded. Somehow I composed myself enough to add, “Can we see something really dumb?”
“No,” said Raina firmly. She even smiled a little. “There’re some short student art films at the museum.”
I groaned, but it was just for show and we both knew that. “Okay.”
We stood a bit awkwardly, listening to my parents’ footsteps as they climbed the stairs. And then they came in, and Raina said good night and left.
“Any luck with Lily?” I said to my parents. I hoped to forestall any comments about Raina.
“Well,” said my father, “eventually she opened the door a crack and said that we’d woken her up and she hated us. I don’t think she really was sleeping, though. Her light was on the whole time. You could see it under the door.” He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “She’ll need a good week of sulking, I’d guess. Maybe two. Then she’ll snap out of it.”
“Yeah,” I said, but privately I doubted it.
My mother was looking at me. “David? I was wondering—why do you want Kathy’s picture?”
“No reason,” I said uncomfortably. “I just remember her.” And then I said something that, until that moment, I had not realized I knew. “Kathy died here, didn’t she?” I said. “Here, in this attic.”
“Yes,” said my father.
“She died here alone,” I said. I felt as if a piece of a puzzle—a puzzle I hadn’t known I was working on—had slotted into place. “All alone.”
There was a little silence.
“Why, no,” said my mother. “Not alone. I thought you knew. Lily was with her.”
CHAPTER 18
I sat down. “I don’t remember. You’d better tell me.”
My father nodded. We looked at each other straight on for possibly the first time that weekend, neither of us looking away.
He said, “I was at the inquest. It—Kathy’s death—was ugly. She ingested a glass of cleaning solvent. Ammonia of some kind. She was taking a bubble bath, and apparently had the glass all ready next to the tub. She drank half of it—more wasn’t required. It burned out her throat, and she sank down under the water. The actual cause of death was drowning. There was water in her lungs.
“And Lily … Well, Kathy had locked the door to the attic but Lily knew where the key was. She had sneaked in before. She liked to hang out here when Kathy wasn’t in.”
Now, that sounded like Lily to me. “So she thought Kathy was out?” I asked.
“I think so,” said my father. “Her testimony was a little confused. She was only seven. The judge was very gentle with her.”
“What did she see?” I asked.
“At first she didn’t realize Kathy was there. The bathroom door was closed. Then she heard a noise … probably the glass crashing to the floor.” My mother made a sound, a soft involuntary mew, and my father paused for a moment, glancing at her, before continuing.
“Lily said she burst into the bathroom—yelling ‘Boo!’ or something. The bathroom door wasn’t locked. You understand that it would all have happened very quickly. Kathy would have been beneath the water already. Lily said she thought Kathy was playing a game, holding her breath under the water. But she didn’t come up.”
“Lily got all wet,” said my mother. “She tried to pull Kathy out …”
The ice cream I’d eaten earlier threatened to push its way back up my throat.
“Lily even tried to pick up the glass,” my father said. “But of course it had shattered on the tile when Kathy dropped it, so Lily’s hands got cut up. And her knees … She kept saying it was her fault. Children that age, they often think they’re responsible for everything.”
I had a vivid picture of Lily kneeling on the shards by the tub, pulling desperately at Kathy. “Okay,” I said. “That’s enough.” But then I thought of something else. “This was about Kathy’s boyfriend?” I asked. “The one who dumped her?”
“Yes,” said my mother.
“Well,” said my father, the stickler for detail, “that’s what the inquest concluded. The letter from him was on the kitchen counter.”
I asked, “Did Kathy write a note or something?”
“No,” he said, then added, “I wish she had. It would have been … not easier, perhaps, but more final.” He shrugged. “People usually leave letters, but not a
I found myself staring across the room into the bathroom. Its door was ajar, and I could see the edge of the tub inside.
“Why were Vic and Julia fighting with Kathy?” I asked.
“They’d been fighting since she dropped out of college,” my mother said. “She’d been commuting to U. Mass., Boston. Do you remember?”
“Something, yeah,” I said. What I suddenly did remember were my mother’s comments about it. Julia won’t pull her claws out of Kathy. Mark my words: That girl will never get away.
“So they were angry at Kathy for dropping out of school?” I asked.
“Yes. They’d been letting her live here rent free. But when she dropped out and got a job, Julia said she had to start paying.” My mother’s tone dripped disapproval.
“That doesn’t sound unreasonable,” I said, and heard my father’s grunt of agreement.
“She wasn’t earning very much money,” retorted my mother. “And I think, with a little understanding and support, she would have gone back to school. But Julia’s attitude made her dig in harder. Julia always makes you want to do the opposite of what she says.” That was true. I moved on. “So they fought about college and about rent money? And Julia and Vic were in agreement?”
“Well,” my mother said. “My brother …”
I waited.
“At first, Vic didn’t take the rent money from Kathy. She’d give him a check and he’d deposit it, but then he’d give her back the cash. Julia didn’t know.”
“Tell him, Eileen,” said my father.
“I was going to!” my mother said. But then she sighed. “Oh, God. This is embarrassing. David, it was my idea. Vic asked me about charging Kathy rent … he wasn’t sure … so I told him to give Kathy back the money. Secretly.”
“It was a spectacular piece of meddling,” observed my father calmly. “Your mother outdid herself.”
“I was only thinking of Kathy!” my mother protested.